Who killed the Robin?
by Singing Muse
Summary: Who killed the Robin? I, said the Sparrow. With my bow and arrow, I killed the Robin.


**Title-** Who Killed The Robin?

**Pairing-** Jason/Tim

**Genre- **Angst

**Rated-** PG-13 for blood.

**Summary-** Who killed the Robin? I, said the Sparrow. With my bow and arrow, I killed the Robin.

**Notes**- Un-beta'd. I am a horrible, horrible person for doing this to Baby Jay. Just angst, angst, angst all over the place with him. I should really write some fluff one of these days but….Nah! What fun would that be? The title and first verse used is based off an old English nursery rhyme entitled '_Who Kill Cock Robins?_' which is a very interesting read. I rephrased it for the use in this story.

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><p>He laughed. He laughed as he bit through tongue and lips, smearing blood across his lips. He licked the blood which dripped down Tim's lips, his mouth, his chin. Licks and paints his face until the red forms a grin that will never wash away. Never disappear.<p>

Always there, smiling thoughtlessly.

"_Shot through the heart and you're to blame. Oh, you give love a bad name."_

He laughed and sung just as he pulled the trigger. Sent a bullet burning through Kevlar, skin, muscle, and bone. Sent a bullet straight through the heart.

Sent a bullet ripping right past the 'R' on his chest.

And he laughed and he giggled as Tim's voice fell silent and his breath was cut. The boy fell backwards in his arms and slipped out, his hands still clench the leather of his jacket. His fingers let go and he crashed. Crashed to the dirty ground. Dropped into a growing puddle of his own blood.

Fell like a bird whose wings have been ripped clean from its back.

"Kekeke…" He couldn't stop laughing in that strange way, "Kekeke. Red looks good on you, Baby Bird."

He couldn't stop staring down at Tim's body. Couldn't stop looking at the blood that poured from his mouth and from his wound.

He couldn't stop looking at Tim's eyes. Those bright eyes which glowed when he was angry. Lit up when he laughed. Those blue eyes that always drifted between hope and sorrow, fear and want. Love and hate.

Those eyes that were growing dimmer by the second.

"J…J…ason…"

"I've got another song for ya, Timmy." His voice was pitched. It was whiny. It was gruff. It was unnaturally his. "Heard it from Alfred a while back. Listen close now~!"

His boot sat on Tim's chest and pushed down. He giggled when Tim hacked blood.

"_Who killed the Robin?"_

His foot pushed down harder, into Tim's neck, and twisted.

"J…ay…s…stop."

"_I, said the Sparrow"_

Tears fell from Tim's dying eyes. Hands weakly pulled at his boot. He pushed down hard.

"_with my bow and arrow"_

"P…please…J…as…on."

He laughed. "Kekekeke." Tears pooled around his eyes as they stared down at Tim, laughing. Grinning. Loving every moment of this. Loving it like it was a sick joke.

Loving it like a mad man.

He aimed the gun at those brilliant blue eyes that pleaded for mercy.

_From Jason._

"_I killed the Robin."_

"Jason…I…l…ove…you…"

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Laughter ripped from him. Cold, unfeeling, broken laughter which mixed with the tears streaming down his face. Laughter that was much too high and much too whiny. Laughter that wouldn't stop even when he slumped down to floor next to Tim—his Replacement, his Pretender, his _Babybird_— and his eyes looked into the puddle of blood at his knees.

He saw a white face and a bloody smile. He saw green hair and evil eyes.

He saw death.

He saw _him_.

He saw _Jason_.

He screamed.

"Jason! Jason! JASON!"

The first thing he saw when he tore his eyes open were those brilliant blue eyes staring back. Shining in the dark, ripping through the darkness as they gazed at him—examining, understanding, worrying. He saw the pale skin which desperately thirsted for pure sunlight but was denied by Gotham's smog. He saw long, black hair matted and plastered to his cheeks and forehead—hair he loved to touch and comb and grip.

He saw a face—young and strained with burden (for him, _just for him_).

Most importantly he saw Tim.

His Babybird.

Alive and whole.

It was at that point that Jason didn't care that he was covered in sweat. He didn't care that he was low on oxygen. He didn't care that Tim was talking, speaking a line of worries and needs and 'Jason, please don't look at me like that you almost scared me half to death.' He didn't care that he was fucking _crying_. He didn't care about any of that.

He just needed to touch Tim. Know that he was alive.

Jason grabbed Tim's face and crushed their lips together. He bit and licked and sucked and tore. He tasted mint and those shitty protein shakes Tim had to drink every night before he went to bed. He tasted heat. He tasted Tim.

Tim's hands wiggled their way between their bodies and grasped Jason by his neck. The feel of his fingers threading through Jason's hair and his thumbs brushing his cheeks, wet and overheated, made Jason squeeze him tighter. Bring him closer. Trapping him in his arms like they were chains holding him down against him.

Jason couldn't let go. _Wouldn't let go_. Not until he knew what he was holding was real.

Not until he felt, breathed, heard, saw, and tasted Tim all over. Not until those images of him, with the painted on smile and high-pitched laugh, washed away.

Not until the nightmares of the crazed Sparrow and the dying Robin disappeared.


End file.
